Conspiracy
by Detafo
Summary: Set after the movie. Clarice is in an accident and has amnesia. Guess who looks after her...
1. Prologue

Conspiracy  
  
Clarice Starling tapped the Enter key half-heartedly. The computer bleeped inquiringly and she muffled a groan. For fuck's sake, why won't you enter this fucking information? She wondered. The computer had been playing up on her for three weeks now, but Noonan either didn't give a shit or he wasn't lying about the FBI being strapped for cash. She'd tried everything she knew about computers to get hers up and running again, but no, the stupid box just bleeped and made other weird, uncanny noises.  
  
"Hey, Starling!" Richard said, coming into the room. "What's up?"  
  
Clarice turned, regarding him. "Hey Derrington, what's up is my fucking computer again. I seriously don't know what's up with it." She got up from her desk and held out a hand for her mail. Richard gave it to her just as the computer spat sparks out, gave a half-hearted bleep and blew up. It looked quite comical with a steady wisp of smoke floating from it. "Fuck!" Clarice said, waving away the smoke. Richard frowned.  
  
"Did you tell your boss?"  
  
"Yeah. Noonan just doesn't give a shit about me. I'm the freak that sits in the basement all day researching a cannibal, remember?"  
  
"I wouldn't call you a freak, but hey, to each his own." Richard gave her a smile. "Want me to go get a Tech?"  
  
"Nah, I'll get one. I've been down here since six am, I need to get out."  
  
"Careful, Dracula. It's pretty sunny out there."  
  
"Better put on extra strength sunblock then, shouldn't I?" Clarice punched him lightly on the arm and walked up the stairs. Richard watched her go and put her mail on the table before following her. A plain white envelope about A4 size slid from the pile onto the floor.  
  
It didn't take long for Clarice to find a Tech. Samantha Westfield was just coming off her lunch break when Clarice caught her outside the cafeteria.  
  
"Hey Sam!"  
  
"Hey Clare, what's up?" Sam asked, turning around.  
  
"My computer's gone and shit itself. I think it blew up on me. Can you com take a look at it?"  
  
"Sure. Lemme at it!" Sam followed Clarice down to the disarray of the basement workroom. "Damn, girl! How can you find anything in here?"  
  
"I practically live here. It's kinda easy." Clarice grinned. She showed Sam her computer. The Tech raised an eyebrow when she saw it.  
  
"Why the heck have you got an old model, Clare? The whole building has been upgraded."  
  
"I know. I think Noonan just likes seeing me suffer with a shitty second- rate model."  
  
"Second-rate? Clare, I wouldn't even call this third- or forth-rate! It's ancient!"  
  
"Yeah well, life ain't always peaches and cream. It gets my work done. Or did. That's all I need." Clarice grinned again. She started sorting through her mail. She didn't see the white envelope on the floor. Sam chuckled and took a look at the computer.  
  
"Damn, here's your problem, Clarice. Look." Sam pointed out frayed wires near the power point. "Damn, you've basically got your own execution laid out in your office. I reckon that overload could have killed you if you were near the computer when it chucked it's cookies. Or at least put you in hospital for a bit."  
  
Clarice looked at the wires and shrugged. "Oh well. I guess I've got a pretty good reason to get Noonan to get me a new computer for down here, if he wants me to do any work at all."  
  
"I'll go talk to the other Techs. I think we may have a few spare computers somewhere."  
  
"Thanks Sam." Clarice said, opening an envelope.  
  
"No problem. Oh, and you dropped some of your mail." Clarice looked down and saw the envelope. Sam left to talk to her workmates. Clarice picked up the envelope and frowned. She didn't want to open it. Not at work, anyway. Christ, I've only been back here six months and already I'm getting weird envelopes. Part of her wanted to scream. If it was from him, she didn't want to put on a trace. No, she'd tried that before. All she ended up with was a bullet in the shoulder and he escaped again. She looked at her watch. It was already after five, which meant she'd been here for over an extra three hours. She yawned suddenly and shook her head. Packing up her things to take home, including the white envelope, she put on her coat and went upstairs. Sam was talking to another Tech in the hall.  
  
"Oh, hey Clarice! We do have a couple of spare computers. Do you want it now?" Sam asked.  
  
"Nah, I'm going home, thanks Sam. Bring it by tomorrow."  
  
"Okay! See you tomorrow!"  
  
"Bye!" Clarice walked out, holding the box which had files concealing the envelope, and out to her Mustang. Snow was falling and she had to wait a bit for the engine to warm up. Once it got going, though, she backed out and onto the road, driving home. She yawned again. Her eyes began to flutter closed, and she struggled to keep them open.  
  
There was a squeal of tires, and then just blackness... 


	2. Chapter One

Conspiracy  
  
Black, everything was black. Why? Where were the colours? She opened her eyes, taking a while to focus on the bleak white room that she was in. Where am I? Who am I? What happened? Questions raced through her head. She put a hand to her head and felt a thick, white gauze there. She shut her eyes, and then opened them again. No, it was still the same room. She looked around and saw a red button on a cord. It was then, she realised her right arm was in a cast, and so was her left leg.  
  
She managed to get the buzzer and pressed it. A few moments later, a dumpy, friendly looking nurse bustled in. She smiled warmly.  
  
"Hello there! Glad to see you're awake, dear!"  
  
"How long have I been asleep?" She asked.  
  
"Dearie me! Don't you remember, Darlin'? You were in a car crash! Silly girl! Fell asleep at the wheel, you did!"  
  
"...."  
  
"My name's Kathy, by the way. Now, do you want to tell me your name?"  
  
"I... I don't remember."  
  
"Uh-huh... and where do you come from?"  
  
"I dunno. Where am I?"  
  
"St Margaret's Hospital! You've been unconscious for the past five days!"  
  
"Oh...Do you know my name?"  
  
"No. From what I heard, your car caught fire and someone dragged you out just before it blew up. Everything was destroyed."  
  
"Is the other guy okay?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"The other driver... are they okay?"  
  
"Oh yes! I believe he was the one that pulled you out. They patched him up and he went home."  
  
"Oh...Thanks."  
  
"No problem. Well, since we don't know your name, Dearie, the Doctors have been calling you the resident Jane Doe."  
  
"Oh, well, that's okay... uhm... is it possible for me to go and get something to eat?"  
  
"Oh! How terribly silly of me!" Kathy shook her head and tutted. "You can't get out of bed yet. Lunch will be in about fifteen minutes. You woke up just in time. I'm just going to tell the doctors you're awake, all right?"  
  
"Um... okay." Jane looked around and saw a TV remote control on the bedside table. She picked it up and began to channel surf for a while. She stopped on CNN and lay back on her pillow to watch the latest headlines.  
  
"And in latest news, a sighting of the serial killer, Dr Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lecter has just come to light. A young couple in Central Park, New York, are sure they saw the renowned serial killer strolling through the park at seven pm two nights ago. No more information has come to light as of yet, but the FBI is hoping."  
  
Jane watched the newsreader, not really paying attention. She sighed as the news report came to a close and she switched over to cartoons, knowing it was dumb, but there wasn't anything else worth watching.   
  
Kathy, the nurse was a regular visitor for Jane. When she was off duty, she would come in and the two would talk well into the night. Sometimes, they would play cards or try and guess who and what Jane was before the accident. Kathy guessed she was a computer saleswoman, and that her real name was Kirby Sommers. Jane thought she was an actress and her name was Cindy Pastel. Sometimes they would say outrageous things and make up silly little names.  
  
"My name is Lady Bump, and I'm really a queen of some small remote country." Jane said this particular evening. Kathy laughed.  
  
"No, your name is Selena Johansson and you're a super villain!"  
  
"Oh yeah? What's my villainous name?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, I've got to have a bit of a stage name. Otherwise the cops would catch me like that!" She snapped the fingers on her good hand.  
  
"Uhm... how about Idealia?" Cathy asked.  
  
"Perfect by me." Jane grinned, just as a Doctor came in. "Hi Dr Simpson." "Hi Jane!" She said. "Guess what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You've just been released."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Your husband found out where you were and came to get you! He's been worried sick!"  
  
"...Husband? I'm actually married?"  
  
"Yes. He showed me the marriage certificate and everything. So let's get you into a wheelchair, shall we?"  
  
A short time later, Dr Simpson was wheeling her out to the lobby where a man wearing simple but elegant clothes was waiting. Something about his face was awfully familiar to Jane, but she couldn't quite place it.  
  
"It's nice to see you're all right, Clarice." The man said, coming over to the wheelchair. He took the handles from Dr Simpson and smiled at her. "Thank you for taking care of my wife." He said. Dr Simpson and Nurse Kathy both smiled and waved as the woman they knew as Jane was wheeled out the door.  
  
Once out in the car park, Clarice's "husband" spoke quietly. "Clarice, what have you gone and done to yourself?"  
  
"Is Clarice my real name?" Clarice asked.  
  
"Yes." She looked at her "husband" and somehow knew that they were not husband and wife, and not even friends by normal standards. In the back of her head, a small voice was saying that he wouldn't hurt her, and that she could trust him.  
  
"Who are you?" He was silent for a time as they came to a black van. He helped her into the front passenger seat and then went around to the drivers side. At first, she thought he hadn't heard her, but as they drove along, she saw he seemed to be pondering his answer.  
  
"You know me as Dr Lecter." He said after a short period of silence. "You'll remember soon enough."  
  
It was obvious he wasn't going to say anymore, so Clarice closed her eyes and fell asleep. 


	3. Chapter Two

Conspiracy  
  
She awoke in a room. She groggily tried to sit up and in doing so, found that the furnishings of the room were simple, but elegant. Just like the man... Dr Lecter. She was sure she knew him from somewhere. It took a moment for the events of the previous day to come rushing back to her. Talking with Kathy, being told she was released from the hospital, Dr Lecter, the van, falling asleep.  
  
The door was open and Clarice jumped when he appeared, holding a small tray, set with a bowl of porridge, toast and orange juice. He smiled at her.  
  
"Good morning, Clarice." She mentally shuddered at the way he said her name. Eerily familiar and somewhat comforting, but in a way, totally alien to her. "Did you sleep well?"  
  
"Yes, thank you." She said politely. "Dr Lecter, where do we know each other from?" She asked as he set the tray down on the bed and put the spoon into her hand. He was silent for a moment.  
  
"That is best left to be remembered. Not to be told." He said, finally. Her hopes sank with disappointment. She'd been hoping he'd be able to tell her. Obviously not. "Though, we have known each other for several years." He added, sensing her frustration. She looked up at him, slowly spooning the porridge into her mouth.  
  
"Several years?" She asked, after swallowing. "How long?"  
  
"Hmm... nine, maybe ten." She got the distinct impression that he was purposely being vague, but decided not to argue. He was after all, being very hospitable and she didn't want to come out as rude. She ate her breakfast politely and when she'd finished, the Doctor picked up the tray. "I'll be back in a moment."  
  
Sure enough, a few minutes later, he came back, pushing an empty wheelchair in front of him. "I'm sure you don't want to be shut in here all day. Would you like a tour of the house?"  
  
"Yes, please." Clarice smiled gratefully. She didn't know what she'd do if she were to be shut up here all day. The Doctor carefully helped her out of the bed and into the chair, but not before putting a coat around her shoulders. Then he tucked a blanket around her legs. She noticed that she was in a long fine satin night gown. She reasoned that he must have known she'd need something to sleep in. He wheeled the chair out of the room and she became aware that the carpet must be very thick for the chair hardly made any noise.  
  
"When you regain mobility in your arm, you'll be able to do this yourself, for a while, at least." He said. "It was a clean break and should heal first. Your leg, is also a clean break, but while the cast is on, your muscles will become weak. It's for the best if you stay in the wheelchair just a little longer after the casts come off." She nodded silently.  
  
The house must have been rather large, though all on one level. As they passed other doors, Clarice caught a glimpse of a bathroom, kitchen, dining room, sitting room, and a sunny, open area showed glass-panelled doors that opened out on a beautiful garden in a glass greenhouse, full of flowers.  
  
Dr Lecter wheeled the chair through the doors and over to a pergola that had bougainvillaea vines crawling up the poles, it's sweet perfume in the air. Clarice sighed and looked around the garden. Dr Lecter sat over from her. She met him eye to eye.  
  
"Dr Lecter... could you tell me some things about my life... I mean, I don't remember anything. At all."  
  
Dr Lecter smiled. "Well, what should I tell you?" He pondered for a minute. "What would you like to know?"  
  
"Anything. What's my last name? Where do I work? Where did I live? Simple stuff."  
  
"Ahh, all right. To start off with, your name is Clarice Starling. You work as a special agent in the FBI and you lived with your best friend, Ardelia Mapp in a condo. Six months ago, you were shot in action. I was the one who 'patched you up', so to speak."  
  
"Does... Ardelia know I'm here?"  
  
"No. Special Agent Mapp is oblivious to your whereabouts, as she was killed in action not a few months ago."  
  
"Oh..." Clarice looked at her lap and fidgeted with a strand of fiery red hair that hung over her shoulder. "I... I don't remember."  
  
"Of course not. You suffered severe amnesia in the accident. The doctor at the hospital say it will take quite a while for you to regain your memory. I, on the other hand, expect it will take you probably two months. You have always been quite headstrong and stubborn."  
  
Clarice cracked a small smile, but inside she was crying in frustration. Two months? Two months? Two months of not knowing anything about my life? Not knowing who my friends and who my enemies are? "What about my parents?"  
  
"From what you've told me over the time we've been acquainted, your father was killed when you were twelve. Your mother, died when you were very young. You did go to live with your aunt and uncle on a sheep and horses ranch."  
  
Clarice was silent for a minute, contemplating the information she'd just heard about herself. Another question surfaced in her mind. "If you don't mind me asking... what is the relationship between you and me? I mean," She blushed at how stupid that sounded. "How did we come to know each other?"  
  
"That is better left remembered, than told." He smiled at her frustrated and indignant look. "Now, I daresay that you would rather like to get into some proper clothes? I'm afraid that I only took the liberty of buying you some dresses. It would be a shame to ruin pants by running a cut up the leg to fit your cast into them."  
  
She saw the reason in that and nodded. "I'm okay with that."  
  
He chuckled lightly and wheeled her back into the house, back to her room and laid a few clothes on the bed. He went to the door. "Call me if you need any help."  
  
She nodded and he closed the door. She frowned as she pondered her current situation. Her arm being in the cast didn't really help matters, but she managed to get her bra done up and on without to much trouble. A sudden thought popped into her head. She hoped he'd gone to her house and picked up this underwear. She started to giggle and shook her head. Whoa... talk about embarrassing. After a few minutes, she managed to get the dress over her head and got up, using her good hand to balance against the bedside table she got up to let the dress fall over her backside and down to mid- shin. She sat back down in the wheelchair before trying to manoeuver to the door, opening it and using her good hand to slowly and steadily roll the chair out of the room and down the hall.  
  
He was in the kitchen, standing by the counter, consulting the paper. He looked up when he heard the chair coming down the hall and smiled. Independent, as always. As she passed the kitchen, she looked in and upon seeing him, tried not to look sheepish, then she kept passing, slowly but surely, to explore the rest of the house. He chuckled again.  
  
When he'd first heard about the accident, Clarice had already been in the hospital for a few days. He'd come to visit her sometimes, just before visiting hours were over, and she was still unconscious. It had made him realise that over the course of the last ten years, though revelling in his freedom, how incredibly lonely he had become. Clarice had taken his sister's place in the world. When she'd been in the accident, he had to make sure he wouldn't lose another as close to his heart as Mischa had been. 


	4. Chapter Three

Conspiracy  
  
"...don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head..."  
  
"...Miggs is dead..."  
  
"...a well-scrubbed hustling rube, with a little taste..."  
  
Clarice tossed and turned in her bed, the voices surfacing in her head as she slept. With a cry, she sat up, bathed in cold sweat. She was shivering. Questions raced through her head at the speed of light. Who was that? Who is Miggs? Why did they all sound so damn familiar? She shook her head and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was sure that they were people she knew, but she was too perplexed to really think about it at that moment. She got into her wheelchair and slowly made her way to the bathroom, where she bathed her face in cold water.  
  
She'd been here for three weeks so far. Only at the start of the third week had flashes been coming to her in her sleep. Flashes of her past. But they were so vague, she couldn't hold onto them before they buried themselves back down in her subconscious. Tonight it was voices. That was new. She groaned and wiped her face on a towel. How she wished to remember!  
  
Dr Lecter had been answering her questions as best he could, but leaving the most important ones 'to be remembered'. This frustrated her to no end, but she did see reason to why he was doing it that way. She shook her head and wheeled herself back to her room. As she got back into bed, she wondered again, who those strangely familiar voices were.  
  
She woke up in the morning with sun streaming on her face from the window. It was a cool, clear day and the sky was a pristine blue. She got into her wheelchair and went over to the window. The snow on the ground looked fresh, but it was only a light fall. After she'd dressed, she wheeled her way down the hall and into the kitchen, where Dr Lecter was already up and making breakfast. Without turning around, he spoke.  
  
"I heard you get up last night, Clarice. Did you have trouble sleeping?"  
  
"Just some kind of dream that woke me up."  
  
"A nightmare?"  
  
"No... more like... voices. I guess I know them from somewhere."  
  
"What did the voices say?" He seemed genuinely interested.  
  
"Uhm... 'Miggs is dead', I think... among other things. I can't really remember. Do you know who it could be?" "I'm presuming it was Jack Crawford from Behavioural Science."  
  
"In the FBI?"  
  
"Yes. You were a trainee under him, before we met."  
  
"Oh..." Clarice then saw the paper on the counter. "May I?"  
  
"Of course." He picked up the paper and gave it to her. He'd bought it that morning, reading through it, to see if there was anything that could have sparked off a memory of hers. Even though he wanted to help her, he didn't want her to regain her memory just yet.  
  
She took it from him and began to flip through, not really all that interested in the headlines. She closed the paper as Dr Lecter set a plate of breakfast in front of her. She shook her head absentmindedly and smiled at him. He smiled back as she began to eat, slowly. She was silent while she ate, trying to remember what the voices had said. Trying in vain.  
  
She put her plate in her lap and wheeled to the sink, before washing up herself. She'd made it clear that she didn't want Dr Lecter waiting on her hand and foot, pardon the pun. She got enough of that at the hospital. He'd chuckled and readily agreed. His Clarice was indeed full of surprises. Independent surprises, but surprises all the same.  
  
Later that day, Clarice was sitting in the pergola, reading a book. Half of her was totally immersed in the book, but the other half was still pondering the voices in her dreams. Dr Lecter watched her from the window. His maroon gaze unwavering and expressionless. The figure in the garden idly turned a page in her book. He wondered about the voices she'd told him about. It probably wouldn't be long until she regained her memory fully. Then he would give her the choice.  
  
Clarice put her book down and stared out the glass wall of the greenhouse. A doe was showing her fawn how to strip bark off a tree. Eating for the deer was minimal at this time of year. Clarice leant her chin on her good hand, her elbow resting on the arm of the wheelchair. She watched the deer peeling the bark and get startled by a low flying raven. She shook her head, putting the book in her lap and wheeling over to a patch of flowers. Carefully, she picked a rose and broke off the thorns. Something so pristine and beautiful could be so harmful. She smiled slightly and tucked the rose behind her ear, before wheeling inside. She looked at the clock in the hall and realised it was late afternoon. When she'd gone out to the pergola, it'd only just been after lunch. Had she really been in the garden for all that time? She chuckled to herself.  
  
The next day, Dr Lecter drove her back to the hospital, for, although he was a medical practitioner himself, he did not have the equipment necessary to see if her bones were healing. Dr Simpson greeted them at the door with a smile.  
  
"Hi Clarice, glad to see you're doing well." She winked at her. Clarice smiled.  
  
"I'm doing fine, Dr Simpson."  
  
"Well, lets go see these bones, eh?" She politely took the handles of the wheelchair from Dr Lecter (whom she knew as Mr Harlow) and took Clarice down to be x-rayed. Half an hour later, after checking, she grinned. "Well, looks like the bones are knitting together nicely. I should say the casts can come off in about four or five weeks."  
  
"Good." Clarice smiled. "It gets kinda boring with the limited things I can do with two casts. I can't even make a decent snowball!" Dr Simpson laughed.  
  
"Well, you'll be able to do that soon! Just come back in about three weeks for another check up, okay?"  
  
"Yes ma'am!" Clarice gave a fake salute and grinned. They went back to the lobby to where Dr Lecter was waiting. He smiled when he saw them.  
  
"Everything all right, then?" He asked, peering through his tinted sunglasses.  
  
"As right as I'll ever be." Clarice replied and he wheeled her back out to the van. 


	5. Chapter Four

Conspiracy  
  
"Is it true what they're sayin'? That he's some kinda vampire?"  
  
"I don't have a name for what he is..."  
  
The voices were getting worse. Now they were coming to her by day, as well as night. Sometimes, they were just an unintelligible hum, and she couldn't understand what was being said. But every now and then, a voice rose out of the jumble and spoke clearly, echoing through her head. It'd been two weeks since she'd been to the hospital, and she was getting on well in her present condition. Dr Lecter made her life interesting. He was always there to talk. He always listened, he was always genuinely interested in what she had to say. The only thing missing was her memory.  
  
She woke every day at around seven thirty am, and dressed after bathing carefully, so as not to get her casts wet. She would then proceed to the kitchen, where Dr Lecter had a meal waiting for her. They would eat together, talking about such things as the weather, headlines in the paper, her past, etc etc.  
  
It was on this one particular day where she was busy, putting her washing in the machine and turning it on, before wheeling down to the sitting room where he sat, reading Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility. He looked up and smiled at her, showing small white teeth. There was something about that smile that spooked her, but only a little. After all, she had been living here for five weeks. She made her way over to him.  
  
"Good book?"  
  
"To an extent. I have read it many times." He chuckled, regarding the old paperback book. Clarice smiled.  
  
"Well, I guess it must be interesting, seeing how well-worn it is." She scratched idly at her cast, as if to scratch the itch that was building up beneath it. She saw a magazine on the table and picked it up, along with a ballpoint pen. He watched her as she began to do a crossword puzzle, and then went back to his book. Silence captured the room for a while, only broken every now and again by quiet mutterings from Clarice as she went through lists of possible answers.  
  
She grinned to herself as she worked out the answer suddenly. She carefully wrote 'ADVENTURE' in the 'down' column. She idly scratched at the cast again. She sensed that she was being watched and looked up, to lock eyes with Dr Lecter. His maroon eyes pierced into her blue ones like points of red light, and she shuddered - not from the cold. Quite far from it, in fact.  
  
She put the magazine down on the coffee table and looked him straight in the eye. "What?"  
  
He chuckled inwardly at her abruptness of the question. "Must there be a reason for looking at you?" "Uh... when we're having a staring match... pretty much, yeah."  
  
"Very well. I like to watch you concentrate. Even if it's on a crossword. Your brow creases in the most interesting way."  
  
She rolled closer to him, leaning down so that her elbows rested on her knees. "Oh yeah? And what interesting way would that be, Doctor?"  
  
"You're doing it again, Clarice." Had the temperature gone up in the room, or was that just her? He'd put down his book, his place marked with a bookmark. He leant forward, towards her until their faces were no more than five centimetres apart.  
  
"Am I?" Her clear blue gaze was still locked with his maroon one. "I didn't realise. So tell me--"  
  
The game had ended abruptly. He closed the few centimetres between them and kissed her on the lips. The kiss lasted no more than a few seconds, Clarice being caught out. But she readily kissed him back, nonetheless. When it finally ended, after both of them realised that they needed oxygen, Dr Lecter leant back against the couch and Clarice felt overwhelmed with emotion. Breathing a little faster than usual, her eyes bright, she smiled at him.  
  
He returned it without hesitation. So much for his plan on keeping things purely platonic. He could smell her arousal in the air and it pleased him. But he had to be careful, taking things at a slower pace.  
  
"Well," She said finally. "You sure know how to make a lady happy." Her West Virginian accent giving a slight twang to her words. He could have laughed at that, but he simply smiled. She flicked her hair over one shoulder and wheeled back a little, reading his gaze. "Uhm... I'll be in my room if you need me."  
  
"All right." He watched her leave, slightly disappointed he hadn't taken the kiss further. Just like the 4th of July. He shook his head and returned to his book.  
  
A week later, neither of them had mentioned the kiss, but had shared a good morning peck on the cheek, sometimes extending it further. Clarice had gone back to the hospital for another x-ray, receiving the news that the casts could come off within two weeks. She was glad. It was awfully constricting to have two casts on opposite sides of the body. Especially when she was having feelings toward her friend and mentor. Friend in what way? She asked herself time and time again. She'd be glad to walk again, after being confined to a wheelchair for almost five weeks, and a week of unconsciousness. Dr Simpson made an appointment for Clarice to come back in two weeks to have the casts taken off. Clarice had agreed to physical therapy on her arm and leg and promised to work on them when the casts finally came off.  
  
Clarice and Dr Lecter often shared each others company in the Living Room after The Kiss, drinking hot cocoa, the fire crackling merrily away in the fireplace. Dr Lecter would usually be reading a book and Clarice was content with her magazines. Sometimes, if the weather were particularly bitter, Clarice would sit on the couch instead of in the wheelchair. Dr Lecter would help her tuck a blanket around her legs and would catch a whiff of the smell that was distinctly Clarice.  
  
From what Clarice could recall of the past that had to be told to her again, she and Dr Lecter had been acquaintances over a period of ten years. They'd met when she was still a trainee under Jack Crawford but after that hadn't seen or heard from each other until seven months ago. Most of the blanks were still empty to Clarice, having been told that they were best to be remembered, but somehow, she got the feeling that their relationship was going way past that of acquaintance. 


	6. Chapter Five

Conspiracy  
  
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt  
  
"Oh shit... no way!" Clarice said eyeing the noisy plaster cutter. "Damn! You cut me, and I'm gonna kill you!"  
  
Dr Simpson laughed. "Close your eyes. It's really not that bad."  
  
Clarice squeezed her eyes shut and felt the pressure on her arm, along with a faint tickling sensation. She peeked through one eye and saw the two halves come away. She looked at her arm in disgust. It looked all right, but by the feel of it, not very strong.  
  
"You'll need to exercise it for a while before it's back to normal." Dr Simpson was saying.  
  
"No shit." Clarice said dryly. "God, it feels weird."  
  
"Well, it should. You've had a cast on it for eight weeks." Dr Simpson said, as the plaster cutter ate away the cast on her leg. "Now, I want you to stay in a wheelchair for a few days, but exercise those limbs."  
  
"Shall do."  
  
"Do you want to keep the halves? As a memento?"  
  
"...you are kidding, right?" Clarice made a face. "Get those God-damn things away from me. I've lived with 'em for eight weeks. Don't need them anymore!"  
  
"Fine." Dr Simpson threw the casts in a disposal bag and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair. "Let's go."  
  
"Physical therapy?" Clarice screwed up her nose. "Greeeaaaat..."  
  
An hour later, after Dr Lecter had picked her up from the hospital, they were driving back to the house. She was flexing her fingers and wincing every now and then from pulling a muscle that hadn't been used in a while. Dr Lecter had his eyes on the road, but his mind was on his travelling companion.  
  
They arrived back at the house, which was situated out of town on a large property. Dr Lecter got out of the car and helped Clarice out of the cab. Clarice smiled at him, her eyes held his as she gingerly put weight on her leg. She notice another car in the drive. Briefly looking it over, she wondered what it was for, but didn't ask. Instead, she let Dr Lecter help her into the house.  
  
That night, she lay in bed, her mind a jumble of feelings and emotions. Was it true? Was she falling for Dr Lecter? Since The Kiss, she'd felt confused and frustrated. She looked at the clock. She hadn't slept a wink and already it was midnight. She shook her head and sat up, reaching for the crutches that were by her bed. The wheelchair was still there, but, being independent as always, she wanted to get the strength back into her leg and arm, and preferred to use the crutches.  
  
She slowly hobbled toward the kitchen, her mind set on getting a glass of water. She got a glass from the cabinet and let the water run for a moment until it was icy cold. She took a sip, looking at the still snow-covered grass. Even though it was early March, the spring's thaw hadn't started yet. She turned to the sink to put her glass in it, when a hand caught her wrist.  
  
She gasped, her blue eyes flying around to lock with his maroon ones. He smiled at her, the moonlight through the window reflecting in his eyes. Her chest felt fluttery as he gently took her hand and kissed it in the most gentlemanly way. She smiled back and came toward him, and before long they were kissing as if the world depended on it...  
  
She woke in a large double bed in the one room she never dared to venture. She felt pleasantly sore and she looked around, seeing she was alone. Alone? She knew he must be up and somewhere about the house. She saw a bathrobe laid out on the end of the bed with a note attached to it.  
  
Dearest Clarice,  
  
Unfortunately, I've some business to attend to out of town. I'll be back in a period of two days. I would say 'make yourself at home', but you practically are home as you've been residing here for the last seven weeks. I promise I'll be back as soon as I can.  
  
Love,  
  
Hannibal Lecter, MD  
  
She read and re-read the letter, her heart sinking slightly. Since when had he become 'Hannibal'? She chuckled at the quirky thought. Maybe when you started screwing him? C'mon Clarice, it's bloody obvious that your ass over tit fallen for him.  
  
She managed to balance with her hand against the wall for support, to the kitchen, as that was where her crutches had been left. She then went about getting some breakfast for herself, and, not thinking herself as much of a cook, settled on dicing an orange and taking it out to pergola to eat.  
  
As she ate, a picture formed in her head. A man, standing at a table, holding a broken pen knife, was peeling an orange, the peel coming away in one long ribbon. She wondered if she knew the man. Her father, perhaps? Or maybe the Uncle she allegedly stayed with after her father died? She closed her eyes, concentrating on the memory.  
  
"Daddy!"  
  
"Hey Clarice!"  
  
"Didja catch any bad guys today, Daddy?"  
  
"Nope, they all got away."  
  
"Awww shoot."  
  
She opened her eyes. The man must have been her father. He had the same West Virginian twang in his voice and she looked like him. She sighed, wishing she could remember more. She ate the last piece of the orange before carefully going back to the kitchen to wash up her plate. Then she decided to go lie down for a while. Damn, I musta tired myself out real good, last night...  
  
She hobbled to her room, pulled down the covers and slid between the sheets. Her eyes fluttered closed and she began to dream...  
  
"Dr Lecter, my name is Clarice Starling, may I speak wit you?"  
  
"...that expires in one week. You're not real FBI, are you?"  
  
"Do you spook easily, Starling?"  
  
"Hannibal Lecter..."  
  
"Hannibal the Cannibal."  
  
Her eyes flew open and she sat up. Memories and images came rushing into her head. The dungeon, Dr Chilton, Barney, Mason Verger, Jame Gumb, Benjamin Raspail's severed head.  
  
She could remember. 


	7. Chapter Six

Conspiracy  
  
He smiled as he drove back toward the house. In the past weeks, he'd come to realise how much Clarice meant to him. His Clarice. Nobody else's. Even being away for a short period of time made him wonder what Clarice was doing, how she was coping alone. He chuckled to himself and parked the car outside the house. He opened the door and entered the quiet house. Instantly, he knew something was wrong. He could smell it.  
  
He put the keys on the table and walked toward Clarice's room. He saw her sitting on the window seat, her arms wrapped around her legs. She was looking out the window. She turned when she sensed she was being watched.  
  
"Hello, Clarice."  
  
She refused to answer, and sat her chin on her knees. "You lied to me."  
  
"Clarice, you know full well that rudeness is unspeakably ugly to me. That includes lying. I never lied to you once throughout your stay."  
  
She knew it was true. She just didn't want to accept the fact. "You're a criminal. Why'd you take me in?"  
  
"Remember your graduation, Clarice. Remember what I said to you during that phone call? I have no plans to call on you. The world is a much more interesting place with you in it." He stood in the doorway, watching her.  
  
"Why is it a much more interesting place? You never did tell me, Dr Lecter." Clarice's eyes were clear and focussed.  
  
"You remind me of my sister."  
  
Well, she hadn't been expecting that answer. "...sister?" She remembered reading in Lecter's file something about scavengers presumptiously eating his younger sister.  
  
"Yes. Mischa. I believe it is in my file. And I believe you've read it many times."  
  
"But why did you take care of me?" She was still unsure. "Why not let the hospital take care of me?"  
  
"You probably never would have regained your memory. The FBI wouldn't bother looking for you." He still stood in the door way, looking at her. "Every day I've scanned the papers and not once have I seen not even the slightest article about your disappearance. I've told you before, Clarice, the FBI doesn't love you. You run along a different grain altogether."  
  
She visibly shuddered at his use of words. "I don't want to be here." He understood. "Very well, then. Good bye." He turned to leave the room.  
  
"What's that suppose to mean?" She asked, suddenly afraid. He turned back again.  
  
"It can mean whatever you want it to mean. It can mean goodbye forever. It can mean goodbye until later today. Or it can mean goodbye for a while until you've had time to think. You can take the other car in the drive if you wish. That's why it's there." He turned and left, making his way to the kitchen. Clarice, with tears in her eyes got up and put on her boots. She left the house, seeing the key to the car on the table and took that too. She got in the car and drove up the long, winding driveway.  
  
From the kitchen window, Dr Lecter watched her go.  
  
She drove toward town, her mind spinning. What would she do? Where would she go? She wondered if she should go back to the FBI... it was her job after all. She passed St Margaret's and into Washington DC. She was so confused!  
  
He's been playing with your head ever since he came to get you from the hospital! He kissed you, for fuck's sake!  
  
But I kissed him back...  
  
Yeah and you slept with him...  
  
Slept with him?! We fucked each other senseless!  
  
"Argh!" She said, frustrated. "Great. Just great!" She turned on the radio, hoping the music would calm her nerves, but her mind kept wandering back to him. Her feelings were all jumbled. I'm suppose to hate him! He's a serial killer, for Christ sake!  
  
Before long, she'd driven to the FBI buildings. She parked on the street, taking the keys out of the ignition and hurried up the stairs. She was sure people stared at her as she passed. She ignored them until she stopped at Noonan's door. She rapped on it sharply.  
  
"Come in." Came his voice. She opened the door and he jumped up when he saw her.  
  
"Starling! Shit! We thought you were dead! What happened to you?"  
  
She remained silent for a moment before choosing her answer carefully. "I was in a car accident."  
  
"What? Why didn't you try and contact me?"  
  
"It's kinda hard to do that, Sir, when I had amnesia and two limbs in casts." Noonan was silent for a minute. "I see. So, you've been in the hospital all this time?"  
  
"No." Her mind was working quickly. "No, my sister found me and took care of me." She hoped he'd buy the lie. He did.  
  
He was silent for a minute. "Well. Are you here to get your old job again?"  
  
"If possible." WHY THE HELL DID YOU SAY THAT YOU THICK-BRAINED BITCH?!?  
  
"Well, your office, I believe, is how you left it. Can you start tomorrow?"  
  
"Sure." She turned to leave, but Noonan stopped her.  
  
"Tell your sister 'thank you' from me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"For taking care of one of our finest agents."  
  
You know, Noonan, when you lie, a little muscle twitches near your right eye. She nodded. "I will." She left then and headed back downstairs to the car park.  
  
She sat in the car for a minute, contemplating the confrontation. It could've gone better. She shook her head.  
  
Why the fuck do you want this dead-end job back?  
  
Have YOU tried getting by without a job?  
  
No. But I know you can do a lot better than this.  
  
Oh yeah? How?  
  
Going back to him.  
  
Fuck no!  
  
Like you have any other choice.  
  
Shut up! Just shut up and go away!  
  
Okay. But in the end, you'll thank me.  
  
With that, the voice left her head. Strangely, she felt empty inside. She started the engine and drove to her home, to return to a possible flooded mailbox and a ton of newspapers on her doorstep. 


	8. Chapter Seven

Conspiracy  
  
She arrived at the house that she'd once lived in with her best friend Ardelia. Staring at the condo, she felt tears prick her eyes as she remembered the day that she'd gotten the phone call from Pearsall, to say that 'Agent Ardelia Mapp has been killed in action. I'm sorry.' and had hung up.  
  
Since she didn't have her keys with her, she had to go around the back and get the spare key from in the flowerpot. She opened the back door and was overwhelmed by the musty smell that the house had gathered over the past eight weeks. She hurriedly went and opened some windows to let fresh air in.  
  
After she'd opened several windows and made herself a stiff drink, she checked the floor at the front door, beneath the mail slot. As she'd thought, there was a pile of mail there, but not as much as she'd expected. She gathered it up and took it into the kitchen. Setting it on the table and sitting down, she began to sort it into three piles: junk, personal, bills.  
  
After she'd finished, the personal mail had three letters in it, the bills had one, and the junk had about twenty-three.  
  
She looked at the bill in disgust. Opening it, she chuckled. Electricity - $109.87. I guess that must be fore the fridge. I haven't had any other appliances going...  
  
She looked to the personal mail, struggling to recognise the handwriting on the outside. One thing was for sure, none of them were from him. No, one was from a friend in Cleveland. Another was from a distant cousin she hadn't spoken to in years. The last was a belated Christmas card from the family across the street.  
  
She checked her answering machine. The entire tape was full.  
  
"Starling, where are you? You haven't been into work for the past week. You'd better get your ass in here next week with a damn good excuse!" Beeeeep  
  
"Hey Clarice, we just wanted to know if you wanted to come to a party with us next Saturday. It's Emma from across the street. Ring me back, okay? Bye!" Beeeeep  
  
"Miss Starling, this is Deborah Stewart from the Kodak store on South Street. I'm ringing to let you know that the photos you had developed last week are ready for you to pick up. Bye." Beeeeep  
  
"Starling! You haven't even rung! GET YOUR ASS TO THE OFFICE!" Beeeeep  
  
She shook her head, sculling her drink and heading up to her room.  
  
She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't sleep. Heh, the last time I couldn't sleep, I got fucked by a serial killer. Fun.  
  
She turned over and closed her eyes, desperately trying to sleep. But he kept floating in to her mind. She finally sat up and grabbed the phone, and before she knew what she was doing, she was dialling some nonsense number, as if trying to ring him. Christ, she didn't even know the number. Duh, Clarice. Stop being stupid and go to sleep. You have work tomorrow. She lay down again and after a few minutes, she was sleeping.  
  
The next morning, she was up early. She went down to the kitchen to get some breakfast, after getting dressed in her usual black cargos and black Tee. After putting on her boots, she sat at the table, feeling lonely. She realised how much she missed being appreciated. Even if it was by a cannibalistic serial murderer. No one ever listened to her in her old life. He was the only person who'd ever taken any interest in her during her adult life. He was the only one who'd ever taken her seriously.  
  
Stop it, Clarice. Just stop it.  
  
No.  
  
Well, go on then. Admit it. You liked living with him.  
  
No I didn't!  
  
Liar.  
  
Leave me alone!  
  
The other voice shut up. She glanced at the clock and sighed, picking up the keys to the car he'd so generously given to her. Just as she was about to go out the door, her phone rang. She looked at it and froze. She picked it up.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Glad to see you got home safely, Clarice."  
  
"Dr Lecter..."  
  
"I'm sure you were just on your way out, Clarice, so I'll make this short. I was wondering how you are."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"I've heard that before. Don't lie to me, Clarice."  
  
She sighed, knowing he was right. "I've got to get to work, Dr Lecter."  
  
"Starting so soon? I must say they are very eager to have you back, aren't they?"  
  
"I guess." Now that she thought about it, she realised what he said was true.  
  
"Well. You'd better get off to work then. Goodbye until another time, Clarice."  
  
A dial tone in her ear. "Goodbye, Dr Lecter..." She whispered. She put the phone down and went out to the car, driving off to work. 


	9. Chapter Eight

Conspiracy  
  
"Hey Clarice!" Richard Derrington was back down in 'Hannibal's House', looking for her.  
  
"Mmm?" Her head emerged from under a desk where she'd dropped several tapes. "What?"  
  
"You got a shit load of mail here. And Noonan wants to see you up in his office."  
  
What does that slimy little fuck want now? "Okay. I'll be up in a few seconds." She got up, dusting her cargos off and walking up to where natural daylight lay. She was up at Noonan's office within a few minutes, and she knocked on the door.  
  
"Come in." She entered, to see Pearsall, Noonan and two other men she didn't know. "Starling." Noonan said. "Sit down."  
  
She pulled up a chair and sat. "You wanted to see me, sir?"  
  
"Yes. Agent Pearsall, Agent Prescott and Mr Tripp, as well as myself want to ask you want happened during the eight weeks you were absent from work."  
  
"Everything?"  
  
"Blow-by-boring-blow." Pearsall said. She felt his gaze bore into her. It was common knowledge that the two hated each other. Pearsall thought she was incredibly cocky, Starling thought his parents made the mistake of not wearing a condom.  
  
"Well, the last time I was here, I'd been here for a few extra hours and decided to go home. So I got in my car and drove off home, but I fell asleep at the wheel and crashed into another car."  
  
"What happened to the other driver?" Mr Tripp asked.  
  
"I'm not sure, but the nurses told me that he was the one who pulled me out of my car before it blew up, so I'm sure he's fine." Mr Tripp nodded and Starling went on. "I was unconscious for a few days before I woke up in the hospital-"  
  
"Which hospital?" Pearsall asked.  
  
"St Margaret's." Starling said, glaring at him. It was clear he didn't believe her. "A couple of days after I'd woken up, my sister came to collect me. How she found out about the accident, I don't know, but she came and took me back to her place." The lie was working well, so far.  
  
"Why didn't you return sooner?" Sneered Pearsall.  
  
"I had temporary amnesia, Sir. I also had a broken arm and a broken leg. Would you like proof of that, too?" "If you wouldn't mind." Oh I mind, you slimy fuck-wit.  
  
She pulled up the leg of her cargos, to show proof of her broken leg. Then she showed him her arm. Once he seemed satisfied, she continued. "I recovered my memory only four days ago. And I needed time to gather my wits. That's why I only returned yesterday."  
  
"Thank you, Starling." Noonan said, glancing at Pearsall to shut up his next comment. "You may go."  
  
"Thank you sir." Starling got up and left. Agent Prescott looked at each of the men in turn.  
  
"That suits me." He said, plainly. Mr Tripp nodded.  
  
"Her story is quite believable. And she has the 'battle scars' to prove it."  
  
Noonan turned to Pearsall. "Look, I know you don't like her, but just let it go, this once."  
  
Pearsall glared at him and stormed from the room.  
  
A few hours later, Clarice sat at her desk, staring into space. She couldn't work. She couldn't think. She felt so lonely. She looked around the room, dark and shadowy, illuminated only by a flickering computer screen and a few light panels. The only sounds were the gentle hum of the computer and her own heartbeat.  
  
She propped her feet up on a table and chewed the end of her pencil. Her mind wandered to the house where she'd lived for eight weeks of her life. She remembered the plush carpet, causing feet to make no noise when walked upon. The simple, but elegant furnishings of the house. The furnishings that matched the man. His maroon eyes, the faint scar on his right hand, the familiarly comforting metallic rasp of his voice.  
  
See, I told you...  
  
Don't you ever shut up?  
  
Uh, knock-knock, Clarice. This is your subconscious talking. So, the answer is no.  
  
Then what do you want?  
  
I want you to get your ass back to 'Dr Lecter' and tell him what your real feelings are.  
  
But-  
  
No buts about it, Starling. Get off your lazy ass and go back there. Pearsall will be curious about why I'm leaving early.  
  
Who cares what that little fuck-wit thinks? He's a slimy little bastard. Remind you of anyone?  
  
...Chilton.  
  
Yah. And look what happened to him.  
  
She remembered the article splashed across the front page of the National Tattler. 'Dr Fredrick Chilton, found dead in Beanos Ares.' Or what was left of him was found dead. She chuckled inwardly. At the time, she'd been horrified. Now that she looked back, she laughed at what Dr Lecter had said.  
  
I'm having an old friend for dinner.  
  
That was true in a whole new way. She closed her eyes for a minute, before opening them and staring straight into Pearsall's eyes.  
  
"You're story may have fooled the others, Starling. But it doesn't fool me."  
  
"What about my story is so unbelievable, sir?" Clarice raised an eyebrow curtly.  
  
"The fact that I don't like you."  
  
"Hardly grounds to accuse me of lying, Sir." Clarice said, standing up. "Excuse me. I'm going on lunch. Or do I need special permission to do that?"  
  
"Just remember, Starling. I'll be watching you." Pearsall's eyes glinted in the dim light as he went back upstairs. Clarice rolled her eyes and held up her middle finger in the direction that Pearsall had left. She then grabbed the spare money she kept in a drawer, hidden under piles of paper and other stationary, and went upstairs and out on the street to go and buy some lunch.  
  
She walked down the street, looking at the sights around her. Tall trees, taller buildings. She entered a coffee shop and bought a coffee and a sandwich. Sitting out on the balcony that stretched around the front and sides of the shop, she cautiously looked about.  
  
Seeing no one who looked remotely suspicious, she ate her sandwich slowly, watching all the time. If she knew one thing, Pearsall would have men tailing her within seconds of his threat.  
  
She finished her sandwich and took the paper cup that had her coffee in it, before coming down the stairs and cruising down the street, looking at odds and ends stalls. 


	10. Chapter Nine

Conspiracy  
  
She knew they were there. Two of them, working for Pearsall, no doubt. It had taken her a while to find them. They were in plain clothes, but she'd seen the bulk of their shoulder holsters, underneath their jackets. She looked at her watch from time to time, as if to see how much time left for lunch she had.  
  
She sighed, turning back the way she'd come and walked back to work. Her followers tried to blend into the crowd, not realising she'd already spotted them. She casually passed them, stopped a few feet in front of them to look at a stall. Then she kept walking until she was back in her office. She pondered her current situation.  
  
So, what are you gonna do now?  
  
Well, I'm gonna go back, I know that much.  
  
Good girl. I knew you were coming to your senses.  
  
If you were a physical being, I would strangle you. Oh god, I'm arguing with a voice in my head.  
  
Yeah. Ain't it cool?  
  
She rolled her eyes. Turning schizo ain't cool.  
  
She sat for hours, trying to look like she was doing work, when in fact, she was thinking about the one person she was suppose to be researching.  
  
He sat in an armchair with his eyes closed. In his mind, he wandered through his Memory Palace. With his footsteps echoing through the large halls, he entered the Starling Room. He smiled as he saw images of Clarice that were stored there under the lock and key of his mind. There she was, with her second-rate shoes and her best handbag, perched on the metal folding chair in the dungeon. There she was again, her hair wet from the rain and her pants torn from her little escapade to the self storage place, There were pictures of her from the paper, drawings he'd done of her, images of her at the killing of Paul Krendler, images of her lying in a hospital bed after her accident, images of her reading in the pergola...  
  
He opened his eyes. There was no doubt about it. He missed her. And she had to come back.  
  
Clarice sat in her car, tapping the wheel from time to time. Someone tapped on the window. She looked up to see Mr Tripp standing there. She wound the window down.  
  
"Agent Starling?" Mr Tripp asked. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. Why?"  
  
"You've been sitting in your car for about half an hour, staring into space." Mr Tripp looked concerned. "Are you sure you're okay?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. Sorry If I startled you." Clarice turned the ignition on. "Oh, Sir?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Can you tell Agent Pearsall to call off his cronies. It's starting to piss me off."  
  
"Agent Pearsall tailed you? I'll talk to him." Mr Tripp smiled at her. "Have a safe journey home."  
  
"Thank you, Sir." Clarice returned his smile and pulled out of the lot. Within a few minutes, she was home, the tv was on and she had a hot drink cradled in her hands as she watched the news. As the news finished, she went upstairs, turning on the shower.  
  
Washing her hair in the shower, she leaned into the hot water - and bumped into a warm hand. She jumped, whirling around and pulling the shower curtain around her. Her heart was beating fast as she saw the hand slip out of the shower. It had a thin, almost invisible scar on it. Slowly, she peeked out of the shower. He stood there, gazing at her with his intense maroon gaze. He held a finger to his lips. She nodded. He handed her a towel and she wrapped it around herself as he went over and turned off the light.  
  
"I believe a few of you 'friends' are outside, watching the house." He said quietly. "Quite incompetent, I should think."  
  
"I know. They were following me throughout my lunch hour." Her blue gaze sparkled in the dim light. "I need to get dressed."  
  
He watched her as she went to the closet to retrieve a clean pair of jeans and a black Tee, as well as a floppy sweater. Quickly getting dressed, she came over to him and smiled. He smiled back and kissed the top of her head. She wrapped her arms around him and lay her head on his chest.  
  
"I missed you." She said quietly. He chuckled. "What?"  
  
"Let's just say this is the first time that someone has 'missed' me in that way." He took her hand and led her quietly down to the now dark sitting room. Clarice thanked her lucky stars she'd turned off the light. Out the back door, and through a gate that led into an alleyway. At the end of the alleyway, the black van stood.  
  
"Let's just get one thing straight." Clarice said as they made their 'escape'. "In no way, am I going to take on your...interesting diet."  
  
"Understood perfectly." He flashed her his trademark grin. "If you won't try and change the way I am, then I will return the favour."  
  
"Yes, Sir." She mock saluted as they drove off to the airport. 


	11. Epilogue

Conspiracy  
  
The next day, Pearsall confronted his two cronies, glaring daggers.  
  
"You followed her home, and then she disappeared?" He seethed.  
  
"Yes Sir, she didn't come out of her house this morning, and her car is still in the drive." Crony #1 said, feeling especially ashamed.  
  
It's a well known fact that Agent Pearsall kicked a hole in the wall of his office at that. It's still there today, if you want to go look. It's also well known that Mr Tripp had Pearsall hauled off to the looney bin.  
  
You see, Mr Tripp is a very trusted friend of Dr Lecter. He'd been the man to pull Starling out of the burning wreck of her car. He'd been the one who'd informed Dr Lecter of what had happened. It was he that Dr Lecter had gone to see on those two days of business. All in all, he played a rather important part in this tale, even if he only appeared twice.  
  
If you look up to the sky, you'll see a jet coasting off due West. In First Class, you would see Dr Lecter sitting in an isle seat, holding a sleeping Clarice's hand. The picture looks so peaceful and serene. I would like to take a picture. But I'd better not. It might disturb a very happy couple, and I believe that's bad luck. So if you don't mind, I'll just sit here and watch them in all their peacefulness. 


End file.
